


tell me where it hurts

by quantumoddity



Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Angst, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumoddity/pseuds/quantumoddity
Summary: Lucien Vaudrey rarely lets anyone behind his walls. But one night bad dreams and poisonous memories drag them down and leave him vulnerable.Fortunately Stephen is there.----Look sometimes we just like to see sarcastic characters get a lil bit broken and then watch them get put back together with the power of love?
Relationships: Stephen Day/Lucien Vaudrey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	tell me where it hurts

Stephen Day was used to sobs in the night. 

He’d seen enough in his line of work, seen the worst that his people could be capable of and hunted it down in the darkness. It had left him with few friends, little in his pockets, a grim, gnawing sense of his own fragility and often restless sleep. Flashes of things he’d done, things he’d seen others do, the sound of screams and cries and laughter and the steady drip of blood, he’d long ago learned to make a place for them in his dreams so he didn’t fall apart in the daylight. One of those rules other justiciars wouldn’t tell you in training but they all knew well. 

So as he lay in a swampy gaze of grey and black and realised he could hear Lucien crying softly, he wasn’t surprised, just bitterly resigned. Dreams of his lover were always the worst, the hardest to bear, the ones that would leave him raw and shaky the next morning. All he could do was surrender to them and hope he wouldn’t remember the details when he woke. He turned his face into the pillow and tensed as the sobs grew louder, promising himself that he wouldn’t look until the cruel, undeniable rules of the subconscious forced him to. 

Until Stephen realised that he was already awake. 

He started, struggling to move at first under the heavy blankets, having to kick them away so he could sit up. Almost immediately frigid winter air rushed in and raised goosebumps across his chest and shoulders but he barely felt it, panic rising like bile in his throat. All the nightmares he’d been dreading rushed in at him at once, Lucien in pain, Lucien in trouble, Lucien stolen from him in the night, but now real and sharp and immediate as his golden eyes searched fruitlessly in the dark for whatever danger there was, power already building in his palms. 

But there was Lucien, next to him in bed, turned towards him just as they’d fallen asleep. Curled tight, as small as he could pull his lanky frame inwards, arms wrapped around himself. Shuddering and shaking and sobbing almost silently, his whole body wracked with it, in no danger but what his own mind could put him through. Which, judging by how his fingers were curled into tight, agnoised claws and his sobs were growing more and more pained, was a lot. 

Stephen’s first instinct was to pull him close, drag him free of whatever dream was torturing him so much, comfort him and promise him it was alright. But something made him still, hand outstretched to shake his shoulder. 

As much as his friends teased Stephen about his stubborn pride, Lucien was just as bad. He just wore his carefully constructed image more often so no one saw how much it hurt him when it cracked. He was the smirking, unflappable smuggler lord, bitingly sarcastic and impossible to cross, that role was Lucien’s armour. He saw it in a hundred small ways; in how he was Crane to everyone else but Lucien only to Stephen, in how he dressed and walked and even how he stood still, in how he always cracked people open with a cutting remark and then sewed them back up to his side with his charm. Lucien needed control, he needed to believe in his own cold invulnerability. 

Because Stephen knew there had been a time when he had nothing, no pride, no security, no sense of himself. And Lucien couldn’t bear anything to remind him of those times. 

And now here he was, sobbing like a small boy, making muffled, incomprehensible pleas Stephen couldn’t even make out, rendered helpless by some awful dream. It was about as far from the image he wanted to give other people as you could possibly get. In his naked fear, Stephen could see the young boy who’d lived in terror of his older brother and buckled under the scorn of his father, who’d faced exile for something about himself he just couldn’t change, who’d sold his body so he and his friend wouldn’t starve. He could see everything Lucien hid beneath his sharp suits and sharper smile. 

And honestly, Stephen was scared. Not of Lucien, never that. Just scared of his lover’s reaction if Lucien knew he’d seen his walls come down so hard. Imagining those almost grey eyes harden and flinch away from any comfort he offered, telling him wordlessly that even after everything they’d been through and promised to each other, Lucien still didn’t want to open parts of himself to Stephen, it would break his heart. 

But it was only a moment’s hesitation, one he felt annoyed at himself for as soon as it passed. If Lucien was angry, he would be angry. If he was ashamed, he would be ashamed. And Stephen would take it, whatever it was, rather than turn over and go back to sleep with his lover in pain right next to him. 

So he did take hold of Lucien’s bare shoulder, feeling the skin icy after he’d writhed the blankets away in his terror. Now, closer, he could hear a little of what Lucien was babbling through his sobs and it sent a stab through him. 

“No, no, please not him,” his voice sounded so small, so young, “Stop it, stop hurting him,  _ stop it…” _

Stephen wasn’t one to flatter himself but he could guess at who  _ he  _ was. 

“Lucien,” he rasped, his voice still full of sleep, cracking at the edges, “Lucien! Love, it’s alright, I’m here…”

“Please no, no more, not him, he’s  _ mine _ …”

“Oh Lucien,” Stephen reached over and tried to pour his power in through his fingertips as he took hold of his face, coaxing him up and out, “I’m safe, I promise I’m safe.”

Those grey eyes flickered open, though not seeing at first, wild and panicked and something dangerous in them for a fraction of a second. Stephen didn’t flinch back, he didn’t move, staying close as if to kiss, as if to embrace but waiting. He offered himself, completely, and without any expectation.

“Lucien,” he murmured, still holding his face, running sparkling fingers across his cheekbones, the curves of the face he’d memorised so well and loved so much, “I’m here. You saved me, remember? It’s alright now, you’re here with me. I’ve got you.”

Stephen did see that moment play in his lover’s eyes, the instant where everything inside Lucien told him to pull away. He saw how close he came to following that instinct, to throwing up his walls and retreating behind them. 

And he got to see the moment he chose not to. 

“Stephen,” Lucien choked out, relief and fear and pain mangling his voice into a raw sob as he pulled him in close and buried his face against his shoulder. 

Stephen held him back just as tight, murmuring soothing words, running his fingers through the damp tangle his blonde hair had become to give him some touch to anchor himself to. He felt the bare skin of his collarbone grow damp as Lucien wept, trying to speak at first but eventually just giving up and surrendering. His lover rewarded him for that as much as he could, promising him over and over that he was safe, that he was here, that nothing bad would ever happen to him again as long as he had any say in it, that he loved him. Stephen didn’t let his fingers slacken, even slightly, not until he felt Lucien’s do it first. 

When they pulled away, lying side by side in a messy tangle of sheets and blankets, Lucien looked more exhausted than he had when he’d fallen asleep. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes heavy, shadows thick under them. He looked like he’d been taken and wrung out until so little was left. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked first, before anything as, as Stephen knew he would, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened…”

“You had a nightmare, love,” Stephen touched his cheek gently, “But it’s alright now.”

Lucien screwed up his face, shoulders coming up, “God, what's wrong with me, I acted like such a child.”

“Oh Lucien, please don’t do this to yourself. You needed that, clearly, and you don’t have to apologise or feel bad about it.” 

He could see how much he wanted to believe that but now he was truly awake and more aware of himself, the hesitation was creeping back in. The shame he’d been taught over years of abuse and exile was pressing in on him. 

But Stephen had promised to protect him. And he didn’t intend to break that promise, no matter what the threat was, even if it was his lover’s own past.

“You’re allowed to fall apart once in a while, Lucien,” he murmured, “And you’re allowed to let me help you put yourself back together. So...please?”

He watched as Lucien swallowed and nodded tightly, not quite able to say the words but stubborn enough to stand in the face of his own shame and express his need. Stephen had never been so grateful for that stubbornness. 

Lucien was soaked through with sweat and it was drying fast on his skin, leaving him shivering. It was bitter winter night and Stephen decided the best thing would be to warm him first and chase the shakes out of his long lims. So he left Lucien to catch his breath a little, slipping out from under the blankets and dressing quickly in the first garment his chilled fingers could find which turned out to be his lover’s shirt from last night. On him, the near two foot of height between them turned it into a passable tunic. He wasn’t about to wake Merrick at this hour and Lucien probably wanted as few people to see him rattled as possible. So it fell to him to pad along to the washroom on freezing feet, pull out the tub and start filling it with water. It came out icy from the tap, the boiler shut off either due to the late hour or the cold weather, but a click of his fingers and a moment's focus solved that problem. A few seconds more and the small tiled room was full of steam. 

When he came back to the bedroom, Lucien was sitting on the bed. Clearly he’d managed to get himself to move as he had one of his silk robes thrown on and loosely knotted. But his eyes were still wide and staring, his hands still trembling as they gripped the blanket underneath him. 

As soon as he saw Stephen in the doorway, he gave a shaky breath that was half a sob, “I missed you.”

Stephen immediately moved to hold him, their positions allowing for a rare moment where Lucien could feel small and rest against him, “Sorry, love. I’m here now and I’ve drawn you a bath, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

And he did, pouring everything he had into his actions. From the moment he led Lucien down the hall and helped him sink into the warm water, he never let a second go by where there wasn’t at least some contact between their skin. He pulled up a stool behind the tub so he could cup water in his palms and let it run down his lover’s back, so he could soap his shoulders and wash his hair. He made sure Lucien would always be able to feel that sparking from his hands and know he was close. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently, after he felt the knots fade from his lover’s broad shoulders. He still kept massaging though, liking the feel of those wire strong muscles moving under the skin. 

Lucien waited a moment before sighing, sinking down under the surface as much as he could. The mansion flat’s clawfoot tub was immense but even it struggled to accommodate all six foot three of him, either his knees or his shoulders had to breach. Stephen kept the water moving so none of him would get cold. 

“It was when  _ she  _ had you,” he eventually murmured, putting so much venom on the pronoun there was no doubt he meant Lady Bruton, “When she used her magic to hurt you and made me watch.”

Stephen grimaced. When practitioners used the ether to cause pain, it didn’t leave scars but he could swear he still sometimes felt the bone deep ache of where she’d gripped him with invisible claws of agony. He’d tried so hard not to scream, for Lucien’s sake, but he hadn’t managed. 

“It felt like being back there,” he murmured, voice flat, “When I wasn’t even sure I could save you and I couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it hurting. But it just went on and on…”

Stephen leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Lucien’s shoulders, not caring when his shirt trailed in the water or where the soap suds in Lucien’s hair soaked his face. 

“It wasn’t your fault, what she did,” he whispered, “You did save me, as soon as you could, when no one else would have been able to.” 

He felt Lucien swallow hard and nod tightly, gripping him back with enough force to hurt. 

“I can’t bear thinking about some of the things people have done to you either. I have nightmares just the same but I wouldn’t trade any of it for the parts in between. Thinking about all that...it just makes me realise how much I love what we have now. And how I’ll fight for it.”

“Yes,” Lucien murmured, “God, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you to wake up next to.” 

“Fortunately you don’t have to know,” Stephen kissed the crown of his head, “Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Gladly,” Lucien managed a weak laugh, though his grip didn’t loosen and his voice turned soft, almost pleading, “Can we...please, I just..I need something to chase it off.”

Stephen understood what he meant immediately and nodded, “Think there’s room in there for me?”

“I can make some,” the relief in his voice was obvious, his hands already reaching as Stephen stood, pulled off the shirt and climbed into the water with him. 

They were kissing hungrily, the need for air a secondary concern, the need to feel each other’s skin more desperate. Stephen straddled him, the water up to his waist, feeling Lucien’s cock harden against the curve of his arse almost immediately. One raw emotion pouring into another, he supposed. 

He took Lucien’s hand from his shoulder and brought it down below the waterline to his entrance. He knew there was oil kept in one of the cabinets just across the room, above the basin. He thought of it, concentrated a moment, and felt Lucien shiver under him as he found his fingers suddenly became coated in it’s thick, viscous cool. 

“Love that little trick of yours,” Lucien grunted, taking advantage of their positions to circle Stephen’s nipples with his tongue.

“Helpful, isn’t it?” Stephen gasped, “Now put it to use.”

The shift in their usual dynamic didn’t seem to throw Lucien at all, he launched into his task, one finger and then quickly two pressing into him and coaxing him open. Stephen groaned, burying his face in his lover’s damp hair, unable to stop himself from rocking into those fingers, taking them deeper, gasping as they brushed the sweet spot inside himself. That greed, on any other night, would earn him a punishment and he’d likely have done it with that express intention. But it seemed tonight was a night for indulgence, neither of them looking to deny the other. 

Lucien only bit one nipple lightly, giving that spot a few teasing brushes, “That’s it. Make me forget everything in this rotten fucking world that isn’t you, sweet boy.”

“I will,” Stephen whimpered, rising up and off Lucien’s fingers though he ached at the lack, “I will, I’ve got you.”

Some shifting and an accidental wave of water over the edge and onto the tiles got Stephen gripping the sides of the tub, the head of Lucien’s erection resting just against him. He took it slowly, face tight with rapture, head thrown back, more and more filling him until he was sat on Lucien’s hips. His lover only watched him, gazing at his face like he was memorising every inch of it, gazing at it the way Stephen imagined a man on the deck of a sinking ship would look at a lighthouse. 

Once he’d breathed his way through the initial stretch, Stephen started to rock, enjoying the almost giddy lightness the water gave. 

“Give those back,” Lucien gasped, taking his hands and moving them back to his shoulders, grinning as Stephen obediently began stroking them across his chest, “There we go…”

“You feel so good,” Stephen whined, eyes hazy, voice breaking every time his movements brought Lucien’s cock hard up against his prostate, “Oh god…”

“Look at you,” Lucien murmured, “You’re so beautiful when you let go like this, did you know that?”

Stephen smiled crookedly, though his eyes suddenly widened in shock, fingers stilling on Lucien’s nipples and his rhythm stuttering, “Wait...are those  _ piercing scars?” _

Lucien blinked before giving his most boyish smile, managing to look almost coy, “Ah...another night maybe?”

Stephen gave a short, disbelieving laugh but he shook his head and kept going, leaning in to kiss his lover as he went back to rocking hungrily. Another night indeed. Though he was happy enough to let it go, seeing Lucien’s usual playfulness back in his eyes. 

It wasn’t long before their gasps became incoherent, unable to form words as they reached their peak together, Stephen soon only able to work his hips and having to rely on Lucien to hold the rest of him up which, of course, he did with ease. As he let go, managing a tight, raw cry of Lucien’s name, Stephen pressed his forehead to his lover’s, wanting him to be as close as possible. From the way he shuddered and moaned as he emptied into him, the touch said everything it needed to. 

For a long time it was all they could do to hold each other and catch their breath, feel the weight of the silence and find it so much easier to bear now. Lucien closed the small gap between their lips first, kissing him softly. 

“Thank you,” he murmured into his mouth, “I needed that.”

“Anytime, love. Thank you for letting me.”

Lucien smiled wryly before his eyes focused on something just over Stephen’s shoulder. A childlike kind of awed joy touched his pale eyes. 

“Oh, look at that. It’s snowing.”

Stephen turned to look out the tiny washroom window, seeing that it was true. Against the pure black of the deep night, dots of white were dancing, caught in frantic currents of frigid air. It had been bitterly cold for weeks upon weeks without a hint of anything but sleet and rain but it seemed some threshold had finally been crossed. And wasn’t it beautiful. 

Stephen turned back to Lucien, smiling with the perfect confidence of a brilliant idea, “Come with me.” 

Not ten minutes later, they were wrapped in robes and sat on the window seat in Lucien’s office, Stephen sprawled back happily against his lover’s chest as long fingers stroked through his curls and a steady heartbeat thrummed against his ear. They watched the snow fall in all it’s quiet beauty, feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies and comforting each other without words. Every time Stephen glanced up, he saw Lucien smiling as the falling snow reflected in his eyes and felt a rush of warmth. 

And the rest of the night was wonderfully, blissfully silent. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a comment! And if you have any requests at all for this pairing/this series I'm accepting any and all! Just send them to my Tumblr @mollymauk-teafleak


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